


Punishment

by Trobadora



Series: Mord'Sith Cycle [1]
Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Gen, child abuse (not sexual)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You have free run. Just teach the boy a lesson." Panis Rahl throws a last disgusted look at his son and storms out, leaving him alone with the Mord'Sith.</i> - Eleven-year-old Darken Rahl learns a lesson. It may not be the one his father intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punishment

There's a Mord'Sith in the corner.

There's always a Mord'Sith in the corner, red-clad, quiet and unmoving. Darken is eleven years old now, and he doesn't remember a time when there wasn't. Sometimes she is tall and blonde and has freckles; sometimes she has mousy-brown hair and no eyebrows. Sometimes her skin is dark and her braid is made of smaller braids; sometimes she is younger; sometimes she is older. But always, when Father calls her forth and gives her orders, she obeys smoothly. She fights with calm, cruel efficiency, and she never hesitates. Her expression never changes. Younger or older, she remains unmoved and unimpressed, untouched by anything. 

Darken envies her.

~*~

"But Father ...!"

"Quiet!" Panis Rahl hisses, and his hand connects harshly with his son's cheek. "Once again you show what you're truly made of."

"It was on your table!" Darken defends, although he already knows it's futile. His cheek burns. He should never have let himself be caught.

Utterly expectedly, Panis Rahl sneers. "Only to learn how to guard against the darkness in you. That _you_ should be attracted to it is no surprise at all. There's something rotten in you, boy, and all that I've tried, all the discipline and teaching, hasn't succeeded in changing that. It needs to be _burnt out_."

Darken suppresses a scowl at the words. It's not the first time his father has berated him for his moral failings, the core of evil inside him. Is it really so bad to have peeked into a book on his father's desk? Is it really something wrong inside him that drew him to it? Certainly the things he found in it had held a terrible sort of fascination, especially that part where the Keeper ... No. Best not to think about it now. _Maybe Father is right_ , Darken thinks, dejectedly. But he says nothing, merely stares at his father in defiance.

"At least one day your brother will ..." Panis Rahl slams a furious fist into his palm, then suddenly seems to come to a decision. "This can't go on. You!" He gestures imperiously for the Mord'Sith in the corner - it's the young dark-skinned one again today - and she steps forward smoothly, expressionless as always. 

Darken suppresses a shiver. It won't be the first time he's struck by an agiel; he'll survive this time, too. And if he flinches now, Father will only call him a coward and a weakling, too corrupt to even take his punishment with dignity. 

"I want him punished _properly_ ," Panis Rahl says to the woman as she stands calmly at his side. "I've been too soft on the boy. I don't care what you do or how - you have free run. Just teach the boy a lesson." 

"Yes, Lord Rahl." The woman's voice is deep and smooth and empty.

Darken's stomach clenches as he realises that this isn't going to be anything like he's experienced before. It won't be a quick strike or two. This is something else, and there's nowhere to run.

Panis Rahl throws a last disgusted look at his son and storms out, leaving him alone with the Mord'Sith. 

The woman looks after him with an expression that almost seems like frustration - the first expression of emotion Darken has seen on her face. Then she turns to him, and something seems to shift. Her body moves differently, her eyes harder and more intent, and her lips curl into a smirk. She raises her agiel toward him, slowly, taunting him. 

If even half of what people say about Mord'Sith is true, this woman knows everything there is to know about hurting someone. It's understandable that he flinches away. 

She scowls at him, looking irritated more than anything else. "I haven't even touched you yet, boy. I'm the only one feeling the agiel right now."

Darken blinks, utterly thrown for a moment. That can't be true. "Really?" he blurts out, and then bites his lip. 

The woman's lips curl into a smirk again. "For anyone else that would be, _Really, Mistress?_ , boy", she says, regarding him almost cheerfully. "But for you, my lord prince, _Really, Mistress Meret?_ will do." He's sure he's not imagining the sarcasm in her voice. Then she holds out her other, empty hand. 

Darken hesitates, but she keeps looking at him expectantly, and it's almost hypnotic. Confused, he places his hand in hers. She grips it firmly and, holding her agiel by the front part, closes his fingers around its handle. It shocks up his arm like lightning, pulses of white-hot pain. He screams.

He screams, but she doesn't let go. She doesn't let go for what seems a long time. When she finally does he's shivering and sweating, and everything seems to hurt. His arm feels nearly numb. Does she really feel that too? Is that possible?

"Is - is it really like that for you, too?" 

Even as the words come out of his mouth, he cringes inwardly. Asking questions of a Mord'Sith ... He'll never learn. Maybe Father is right and he's hopeless after all. Who does such a thing? And sure enough, her agiel whips forward and strikes him on the shoulder. He screams again, but this time it's over quickly. Her eyebrows are raised expectantly.

Darken closes his eyes and tries to calm himself. _Remember the rules._ His father has many rules, and he tries to follow them, but somehow he never quite manages to satisfy Panis Rahl. _The Mord'Sith has rules of her own. What are they?_ He opens his eyes again. "Is it really like that for you, too, Mistress Meret?" 

She smiles at him, actually smiles, visibly pleased. Darken hadn't known Mord'Sith were capable of so many expressions. "Yes," she purrs, and slowly, deliberately slides her agiel through her hand. "Oh yes." She's _enjoying_ this. Is that what it takes to make a Mord'Sith feel? If so, it doesn't last long. A moment later her smile fades. "But that's neither here nor there, my lord prince, as your father, the Lord Rahl, has commanded me to punish you properly. So let's get started, why don't we?" A cruel smirk appears on her face again, the curve of her lips taunting him.

 _Get started?_ What does she think she's been doing up until now? Darken flinches back, but she catches him by the back of his neck and holds him, seemingly without effort.

She bends forward. "You're the Lord Rahl's heir," she whispers into his ear. "I'm not allowed to break you. But I'll do the best I can with what I'm allowed to do. _Properly._ "

The next eternity passes with pain, and more pain, and yet more. Darken's throat grows hoarse, and his screams turn into helpless sobs. Everything becomes a blur.

Eventually Darken finds himself curled up on the floor, whimpering into his arms. There's no agiel against him, no one holding him. He doesn't remember how long he's been here like this, or how long it all lasted. He only knows the pain has finally stopped.

For a long time he simply keeps shaking, heaving dry sobs, but then he remembers. He remembers something important. Darken slowly, carefully pushes himself up and looks. Yes: Mistress Meret is standing in the corner again, her posture alert, her face expressionless as always. Darken shivers.

Then he swallows the bile in his throat and forces himself to climb to his feet. Forces himself to turn. And then he takes a step, and another, and another, until he stands before the Mord'Sith, looking up at her serene, expressionless, cruel face.

She slides a hand down her thigh to her agiel's handle. But he doesn't run.

"You feel the agiel, too. Yet you don't react to it," Darken says, just about managing to keep his voice calm. "Why is that, Mistress Meret?"

Her face shows no emotion at all. "I'm Mord'Sith," she says.

Darken suppresses a sinking feeling. He can't stop now. This is important. "That is not an answer," he says, almost mildly, and feels ridiculously proud of himself for having managed that tone.

Meret does scowl, then. "Do you know how Mord'Sith are created? We _learn_ , my lord prince. We are trained not only to withstand pain, but to make it our own. To welcome it. An agiel alone is nothing compared to what we've been trained to take."

Darken swallows again, but doesn't let her see him flinch. The momentum of the moment carries him forward. "You were taught. It follows that others can be taught." He straightens his spine and leans slightly forward, towards her. He has to force himself to do it, but he does. "Teach me, then," he demands. " _Teach me_ , Mistress Meret."

Suddenly it seems there is a hunger in her eyes - for what, Darken doesn't know. But there is a new expression on her face when she hears his words, and he fancies it looks like respect.

~*~

There's a Mord'Sith in the corner.

There's always a Mord'Sith in the corner, but more and more often, it's Mistress Meret who takes that duty. With every passing day, the woman in red becomes a little more a teacher, an ally, a friend. 

Her dark skin crinkles around her eyes when she holds an agiel to Darken's side. Her firm hand steadies him as he struggles to accommodate the pain. And every day, Darken Rahl learns a little more not to scream.


End file.
